I Wondered About The Half-life Of Regret.

One Had To Build Shelters. One Had To Make Pockets And Live Inside Them.

I Don't Care If I'm A Fish, I Still Want A Bicycle.

This Lunge At Moral Fastidiousness Was Something She'd Noticed A Lot In People Around Here. They Were Not Good People. They Were Not Kind. But They Recycled Their Newspapers!

I've Come To Realize That Life, While Being Everything, Is Also Strangely Not Much. Except When The Light Shines On It A Different Way And Then You Realize It's A Lot After All!

Later I Would Come To Believe That Erotic Ties Were All A Spell, A Temporary Psychosis, Even A Kind Of Violence, Or At Least They Coexisted With These States.